Sladerish
Member
Minecraft Username: SladerishDiscord Username: sladerish. At this point you must be relieved I don't go by Beetlejuice.How did you hear about us?(Referral Bonus): Friends valpezian, datamol, and abysl (forum usernames)! In that order I suppose.Are you at or above the age of 18, and do you understand that this is an 18+ community?: Yes, and it's important to me.Have you read over and agree to our rules?: Yes, and it's unimportant to me. (A joke! sorry couldn't help myself)Please rewrite OOC Rule #2 in your own words: If you're wrong to someone on the basis of baseless differences, you shall Sonder no more.In your own words, describe the following:Metagaming: IC appropriation of OOC knowledge, especially to leverage personal gain. For those who can't keep a secret even from themselves.Powergaming: When Sonder becomes more of a game—godlings forbid, a competitive leaderboard—than a roleplaying community. For those who tunnel-vision on a misguided destination and rob themselves, and perhaps others, of a rich journey."Ok so I actually think there's a rare time and place for metagaming and even powergaming. However, it takes a level of fidelity to pepper in those matters tastefully such that erring on the side of strictly viewing them as no-nos is sufficient."
Character Name: Lazarro.Character Age:51.Lazarro enjoyed the rain more than other Shifters. Something about the cold, the wet, the panic of finding shelter—it targets a bestial instinct. Makes you feel small, exposed. Makes you feel a prey in a world of predators. Antediluvian concerns, reserved for those with the luxury to have them, wash away, and all that's left is survival.
But in the rain, Lazarro can meet his unseemly reflection rippling in the puddles, bald and bulbous. In the rain, the painterly heavens weep, as if nature herself is reminding you that she, too, has bad days. In the rain, you can always find someone down on their luck, in need of shelter—in need of sanctuary. In the rain, whereas the sun fails to, Lazarro shines.
He tears his gaze from the puddle, from himself, and extends his arm over the shivering child before him, his pitch coat billowing outward in an impressive wingspan and providing much-needed relief from the downpour. Whether the child was shivering from the rain, or from his presence, it matters no longer. What matters is the two of them are safe, together.
"The two of us are safe together. Don't worry, little one," Lazarro agrees. (Agrees with what—the world, the child, an invisible social prompt—regardless, he seems to simply command it all into agreement.)
"Are you one of the Rainguard Inquisitors?" The child speaks and looks up with big, wet eyes.
"The Rainguard Inquisitors?" Lazarro laughs, a wheeze rattling from deep within his imposing frame. "No, no... those two aren't poetic enough to live up to their name." He gently sweeps forward, waddling and swaddling and twaddling on with the child in lockstep. Lazarro chirps a hum of satisfying sincerity.
"I... we... are family."
